


Fire

by orphan_account



Series: Like a Live Wire [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Everyday Life, F/F, F/M, Fluffy, High School, M/M, after season 4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-04
Updated: 2015-04-04
Packaged: 2018-03-21 03:49:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3676278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Time felt like it stopped when Allison died. It didn't though, and everyone is starting to move on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fire

**Author's Note:**

> So I am about as consistent as something that isn't consistent when it comes to my writing style and I may have taken some minor liberties with the timeline. Either way, happy Easter/Passover/Weekend.

Amazingly enough, life goes on. And it leaves Scott and Stiles in the dust. Kira and Malia start dating for Christ’s sake, and Scott doesn’t notice until Malia starts wearing a lacrosse sweatshirt with ‘Yukimura’ on the back every time there’s a game. Also, Scott is totally regretting being so hard on Derek when he was the Alpha because Liam is a major pain in the ass and Scott isn’t actually sure how Derek handled three Betas. Maybe it’s because Liam’s a freshman. Scott is to the point that he hates freshmen almost as much as Stiles does, after the disaster that was the first part of their junior year and the assassins and all. Sophomores, Scott is sure, would have been much better. 

“We weren’t that bad when we were freshmen,” Scott decides after an awkward dinner with Liam that felt sort of like the kind he’d had with his father before his mother won custody on weekends too.

Calling it dinner was a stretch. Scott had picked the dehydrated vegetables out of an instant noodle cup and microwaved it. His was even shittier at cooking than he was at being an Alpha, so sue him. With a good lawyer you could get his Xbox and nonexistent college fund. “Dude,” Stiles tells him, looking pale in the light of his computer screen, “We were worse.”

They’re Skyping. It’s sad. They spend eight hours a day together at school, drive home, and Skype while they do homework. They consistently send each other good morning texts. Scott thinks that they’re probably reaching unhealthy levels of codependency, and they’re not even sleeping together. Or at all, in Stiles’ case, if the dark circles under his eyes are anything to go by. “It’s like beating my head against a wall,” Scott complains. 

“What’s he done now?” Stiles asks, eyes crinkling a little at the corners.

Scott frowns at him. “Stop laughing at me. He wants to drop out of school.”

“So does every other teenager on the planet,” Stiles points out, smirking a little.

“He wants to play lacrosse professionally,” Scott says hopelessly. 

Stiles bites his lip to keep from laughing. “You deserve this,” he says. 

“I’m a good person,” Scott complains. “I don’t deserve any of this.”

When they end the call they’re both smiling, but now Scott is alone. Stiles isn’t really conducive to getting something done if the pile of unfinished homework on Scott’s desk is anything to go by, but he’s been acting more like himself lately and being around him makes Scott feel like he’s on fire, only in a good way. Derek had disappeared to South America almost a month ago, so Scott doesn’t feel like too much of a jackass when he thinks that. On top of missing Stiles a little already, he also doesn’t want to do his homework. He wants to open the vaguely menacing envelope sitting at the very top of the stack even less. It contains his PSAT results. 

Scott tells himself firmly that they don’t count for anything. A traitorous voice in the back of his head that sounds suspiciously like Lydia whispers that they’re an indicator for how well he’ll do on the SAT, which is apparently the key to his future if the posters that have recently plastered themselves around the school are right. Scott sighs. Then, he does what he usually does when he’s worried, but doesn’t want to bother Stiles. He calls Lydia. 

“You do know,” she says conversationally, “That I can tell when you’re in danger of dying? Like right now, for instance, because you called me when no one was in mortal peril? It’s making my banshee senses tingle.”

She sounds a little out of breath, and Scott frowns. Lydia is never out of breath, or anything less than perfectly put together. He listens closer and realizes that there are two hearts beating on the other side of the phone. A man’s voice asks, “Who is it?”

He can tell when Lydia presses the phone to her chest because her reply of, “Scott,” is a little muffled.

“Is everything alright?” the man asks. 

“Is it ever?” she inquires, and puts the phone back up to her ear. “What do you want?”

“I can’t believe you said your banshee senses were tingling,” is what comes out of Scott’s mouth.

“I will hang up on you,” she threatens. 

“I can call back later,” Scott offers. “Like you said, no one’s dying.”

“Scott,” she sighs. “Basing our friendship off of people dying is not a healthy thing to do. Talk to me.”

“I got my PSAT results,” he blurts out.

He thinks Lydia pauses. “And?” she finally says.

“I’m afraid to open them,” Scott confesses. “Like, the SAT is important, right? What if I bombed this?”

“This isn’t the SAT though,” Lydia says. “So who cares?”

“My mom, probably,” Scott tells her. “I don’t want to disappoint her.”

“It’s two o’clock in the morning, Scott, and we’re almost adults. I’m not going to reassure you that mommy will love you no matter what,” Lydia says bluntly. “Put on your Alpha pants and open the goddamn envelope.”

Scott does, ignoring the fact that he dreads the number he’ll find more than whatever calamity is going to face Beacon Hills next. “What’s a 115 mean?” he asks.

“Add a zero to the end and that’s what you’re projected to get on the SAT,” she tells him.

“Um,” says Scott, because that means nothing to him.

“You’re not going to Stanford, Scott, but you’ll be fine. Stick with lacrosse and keep your grades up. Figure out how to work being an Alpha werewolf into your college applications as leadership experience and volunteer at a soup kitchen or something,” Lydia sighs. “Now, if you don’t mind?”

“Right,” Scott says. “Sorry. Are you with Parrish?” 

“Goodnight, Scott,” Lydia says, and hangs up. 

He calls Malia next, because now he has to know how she did. “You’re on speaker,” she says when she picks up, voice tinny. 

“Please tell me it’s nothing with slime,” he hears Kira mutter.

“I was just wondering if you got your PSAT results back,” Scott says.

“Oh my God,” Kira says in the background. “Ask him if he knows what time it is.”

“Does it matter?” Malia asks. “I don’t want to go to college.”

“I guess not,” Scott says. “Sorry to wake you.”

“Don’t be,” Malia says, and her voice sounds warm. “Kira and I were up.”

“Just so long as I don’t have to hear about what you were up too,” Scott laughs.

“Oh my God,” Kira repeats. 

“How’d you do?” Malia asks. When Scott tells her she says, “Ah, well. You’ve got me beat.”

“Lydia says—” he begins, because he feels like he should say something to cheer Malia up even if she doesn’t seem upset.

“You called Lydia already?” Kira asks. “Was she awake?”

“And with Parrish,” Scott confirms. 

Kira giggles. “Goodnight, Scott. See you at school tomorrow.”

“More like today,” Scott corrects, and he’s about to hang up.

“Wait,” says Malia. “Do we have a test in Precalc?”

“Shit,” says Scott. “Do we?”

“Why are you looking at me?” Kira asks Malia. “I don’t hate myself, so I didn’t take it. AP Stats is much more fulfilling.”

“I’ll ask Stiles and text you,” Scott promises. 

He calls Stiles on Skype. Unsurprisingly, he’s awake. “Hey, Scotty,” he says. “What’s up?”

“Do we have a Precalc test tomorrow?” Scott asks.

“Shit,” says Stiles. 

Scott takes that has a yes, and texts Malia. The reply he gets contains an alarming amount of exclamation points and a plea for help studying. “Is your dad home?” Scott asks Stiles.

“Nah,” Stiles says. “He’s working tonight. Why?”

“Would you mind if Kira, Malia, and I invaded your house? Malia and I are going to fail this test if we don't study a bit,” Scott says.

And that’s how the four of them ended up clustered around Stiles’ computer, frowning at a screen full of equations. “See if you can find a kids version?” Kira suggests. “Those are easier to understand.”

Personally, Scott thinks it would be a lot easier to understand if Stiles didn’t have his hand in the back pocket of Scott’s jeans, because that is extremely distracting. Then again, he wasn’t sure he actually recognized some of the symbols he was seeing, so he probably wouldn’t have understood it anyway. An hour later they give up and call Lydia. She is still with Parrish and still out of breath. Scott is impressed.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the longest thing I've written in ages and the first time I've done a series. Please forgive me, but also blame yourselves for encouraging me.


End file.
